


Revelations

by N0L1M374NG3R3



Series: Huleth (bilingual) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Crush, Dagdan Byleth, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Hubert loves meat, Mention of Byleth childhood, Mercenary My Unit | Byleth, Mild Blood, Mild Sexual Content, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, POV My Unit | Byleth, meat pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N0L1M374NG3R3/pseuds/N0L1M374NG3R3
Summary: After the infamous accident at thermal baths, Byleth's attraction for Hubert only grows stronger. Awkward situations ensue.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Series: Huleth (bilingual) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902814
Kudos: 17





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Might be read separately form An Inconvenience, happens shortly after its events.  
> Also, a meat pie is quite accurately described and animal blood is mentioned- mind the tags folks!  
> As usual, not explicit but we're dealing with sexual attraction, so...  
> Almost forgetting: this was originally written in Italian; Italian version will be released within few days- as usual.

Staring at the little calendar she always carried around in her pockets, Byleth Eisner sighed.  
Two weeks had passed already .

In mercenary terms, two weeks meant an incredibly long span: there was a considerable amount of things that could be accomplished in such time- resupply, reorganize a garrison, cross a stretch of sea or a region's borders or (finally) getting to be received by a local notable, just to mention a few.  
Even in the most agitated moments, no matter how much time could stretch or crumple- war is either wait or run, no in-betweens - two weeks were almost always _enough_.  
At Garreg Mach, on the other hand - as if, once crossed its threshold, you were sucked into another dimension, set apart from the physics commonly affecting the external world - well, at Garregh Mach time possessed only one and distinctive quality: it was always _too short_.  
All through the week the stream of lessons-then seminars-then drills-then training and activities of the most varied kind almost took the breath away. As a natural consequence, on the weekends tasks accumulated for whom there had been absolutely no time left during the previous days- which also included personal matters, and this was precisely the case with Byleth and the reason why , that day, she was so discouraged.

Those last and troubled fourteen days spent worrying about the deadlines imposed by the Clergy – which oddly proved to have a saying in academic management as well as it had in every other affair and public matter of Fódlan- had prevented her from dealing with a private and somewhat ... prickly matter.  
Now, the last commission received from Seteth had piled up with the rest.  
The upcoming month had five weekends: a most favourable juncture, Seteth's baritone had punctuated as he stared right into her eyes, as if to dissuade her from voicing the disappointment he guessed in her gaze.  
There were certain _issues_ regarding which the Church would have benefited greatly from the assistance of skilled and disciplined youths like Black Eagle’s pupils. The incoming month was perfect to see through them, as kids could “volunteer” at little or no detriment of the ordinary lessons.  
There was no possible way Seteth was less than perfectly aware of how much his orders were going to affect those students – not a small number - who planned to apply for certifications during the following month, hoping to profit from the extra time left to individual study.  
Byleth found rather easy to figure how, in Seteth’s own mind-set, theirs was the task of reconciling strictly personal aims with the several ties and duties their aristocratic status bound them with regarding the Clergy.  
As a matter of fact- such must have been Seteth’s reasoning- so much the worse for them, or so much the better, in case, against all odds, they managed to succeed in their undertaking: whichever the Curch’s demands, they had to be placed first, even at the expence of the Academy and its teachers, who had no choice but yeld to the newly imposed schedule.

Annoyed, Byleth snapped the calendar shut and tucked it into the flap of her Military Administration manual right atop the stack of books toweing on the desk.  
The thud echoed within the empty classroom, followed shortly by the scrape of a large carved chair that Byleth was dragging back to place.  
Other sounds, other voices crowded outside, where the damp October breeze muffled and confused them in whirring haze; swarms of kids, famished and frisky in the bracing wind, hurried toward the dining hall or lingered in the turfy courtyard in front of their classrooms. Some were trying to glean from their comrades some explanation or assignment they had missed while too sleepy, too bored or too hungry to listen. Others were simply waiting for a lingering friend or desk-mate with whom they intended to lunch.  
Still others, eager to stretch out after sitting through six hours of class, capered to the refectory opting for the longest way- the one wich skirted the pond with its pale pool of cold and glassy reflections of clouds, floating and sinking amidst.  
The Eagle’s class, quiet and deserted despite the bellowing bustle just outside its doorframe, retained something desolate yet reassuring.  
Byleth allowed herself some time to reach the board and doodle something on its dark surface: she liked how the wood smelled, loved the creak of the chalk and the dusty ghost-like feel it left like on her fingertips.  
She had never been to school, except in few occasions: at the time, they were exploring a montane region at the core of Dagda, spared from the conflict because it was too barren and stark even for Fódlan kerns, who preferred to plunder the villages scattered down the valley.  
In that village there was a woman, Solgha, a nun of some cult Byleth couldn’t recall a thing about: she took upon herself to grant the local children an education, as poor as it might be, and even managed to throw in some orphans who had somehow escaped from the sacked lowlands and whom she had succeeded to gather and bring back with her to such a desolate retreat.  
Byleth remembered their "class" – nothing but a bare and miserable dorm in which mold spread in large patches all along the walls, dampened with rains the roof beams were too old and rotten to stop.  
Jeralt and his men had helped the nun fix the roof and build makeshift benches for her pupils: while her father toured the village to make repairs in exchange for food and hospitality, she spent her days with other children, all sitting in those benches that were too tall for them, their tiny scraped legs dangling from the stools like many willow twigs.  
There Byleth had learnt to write properly: his father had already taught her how to read and given her some basics about writing too, but Jeralt was far better versed in arithmetic, geometry and science. Regarding such topics, in fact, she already knew much better than most of her peers.  
For the rest, Byleth was fairly good at drawing but felt rather unfamiliar with letters: Solgha had developed quite a fondness for her and continued to teach her even after school, until late in the evening, holding her in her arms while sitting at the desk with quill and paper before them.  
She was kind and fair, with a sweet albeit slightly worn face, yet her most peculiar trait lied neither in her amber-warm stare, nor in her dark-red hair and ginger-scented skin, but rather in her incredible, never-faltering stubborness: to Byleth, Mercedes Von Martritz held a striking resemblance to her, despite how different their colours and age.  
Perhaps her father had felt something for Sister Solgha, back then- and not unrequitedly so: but soon they were gone, good old hireling-style, and Byleth was left with nothing but her longing for Solgha and her people, and a bunch of notebooks full of handwriting drills, which she lost some time later, Goddess knew where.  
Wasn’t it somehow ironic that, despite such troubled education which made her at the same time far better cultured and yet more lacking than her peers, she ended as a teacher to boys who had benefited from private tutoring since their tenderest age?  
No matter what, she liked teaching, she liked it so very much: there was always something new to notice, something to improve and learn herself before passing it on to her students.  
If only there had been a little more time to delve into certain topics with the ease they required…

Someone opened the door to the classroom and Byleth dropped the chalk back to its place.  
Edelgard stood on the threshold, her elegant shape cut out in light.  
Byleth could guess the dark outline of Hubert Von Vestra, standing at the girl’s right and partially hidden by the the door frame.  
She held her breath in light discomfort: there was ... something going on between her and Hubert, although he was probably clueless about it. Two weeks earlier, in fact ...

\- Professor, what are you doing here all alone? Are you not coming to lunch with us?

Edelgard's voice was clear and sharp, yet friendly.  
Of late, Byleth had learnt to appreciate her calm and frank demeanour. She had felt judged, at the beginning, but now saw clearly that such was Edelgard’s way: albeit informed with all the graciousness of her Imperial ubringing, the girl’s manners did retain a distinctive starkness.  
Yet, her attitude had nothing to do with her personal inclinations- either toward Byleth or anyone else in general; in fact, more than once Edelgard had proved fairly unprejudiced about Byleth’s inexperience. She even seemed quite satisfied with her new professor, of late.  
Also, she was brilliant at organizing. Byleth was more than pleased to find someone she could get along with on this particular aspect; yet, she had to acknowledge that, compared to herself, Edelgard fared with much lesser effort through the maze of bureaucracy they seemed so fond of at the monastery.  
For this reason, and considering Edelgard was Black Eagles’s president, Byleth had requested her support when drafting monthly programs. Together they determined weekly goals and Edelgard reported students’s needs, struggles and expectations. Finally, should doubt arise about any procedure, Byleth knew she could ask Edelgard: the girl would answer each question in few of her sharp and pondered words.  
At Garreg Mach, teachers were tasked each month with delivering a fairly detailed plan to pace their didactics: whereas planning itself meant no big deal for Byleth, the amount of papers she was required to fill in definitely did.  
Hanneman would never admit it – in fact, he had an inclination for protocols - but Manuela, with whom Byleth was gradually learning to get along, well, her take on the subject was another matter entirely: in her opinion, all that bureaucracy was designed specifically to remind teachers they were bound to Seteth’ own perspective about management _and_ education.  
\- Protocol here, protocol there, protocol my arse! Every while I’m over with that piffle I have barely any strenght left for whatever comes after. I have to work my guts out and get back on my feet if I want to hit the streets for good old leisure myself!- she used to say.

 _Speaking of which_ , Byleth recalled.  
During a pause between that morning’s lessons, Edelgard had suggested they might lunch together: it could be a good chance to work on the next monthly plan.  
There weren’t many other occasions left for that: it was now Monday, drills were scheduled for the next days and the final tests for the current month fell on Friday.  
As for plan submissions, they were due within three days- Seteth had abruptely moved up the deadline, pleading urgent and unforeseen matters had arisen of late which would keep him occupied at Her Holiness’s side from Friday on, thus panicking all faculty members and throwing all Academy ranks into considerable disarray.

\- You're right- Byleth simply replied: as always, her voice failed to convey the slightest inflection, not even the regret for having tarried longer than necessary she would have liked to impress upon it.  
Bending over the desk, she lifted the books and hasted to the threshold. She knew Hubert was going to hold the door for her –reluctantly so, but he would never let his lady do it in his place. As she passed the marquis she avoided his gaze, limiting herself to a brief nod in his direction:it was in such occasions she felt grateful for her lack of expressiveness.  
The pile of books in her arms felt more cumbersome than she had expected: not realizing in time how close the doorframe was, Byleth unintentionally bumped in it with her elbow and nearly lost her balance. Quickly she managed to seize the books before they fell and steadied herself in a fluid motion: yet, as she heard something tumble on the floor, she turned to inspect the pavement.  
Just then, Edelgard reached out and cheerfully offered to carry some volumes herself: they headed off to the dining hall, followed few steps behind by Hubert, the marquis refraining himself from meddling in their merry chatters, as Bylet knew to be customary of him.

Since they were slightly late, the refectory was already bustling with the usual uproar: at that time of the day, kids were still fresh enough to rump around, pester waiters about more portions and, in general, vent all their frustration after a morning spent between four walls.  
As they stepped into the hall, Hubert's normally waxen face bightened up. As Byleth noticed, though, the only thing the hall differred from the usual for was the smell stirring through its air.  
Tipically, Garreg Mach canteen would retain a rather distinctive tang- a meld of wood and cox. While the former had to do with the olden and worm-eaten furnishing the servers kept constantly waxed, Byleth suspected years and years of fumes impregnating the vaults’ beams had to be accounted for the latter. It lingered stubbornly over the refectory at all hours and on all occasions, seldom overpowered by any other smell- even the sweaty whiff following the swarms of pupils back from an intense session at the training ground could hardly prevail over it.  
That day, however, a pungent, greasy scent emanated from the kitchen stalls.  
“Garreg Mach's pie!” Caspar yelled while he passed by the door wringing a plate in his hands: it was stuffed with something Byleth couldn’t recognize.  
\- Oh! ... - Edelgard replied in a not overly enthusiastic tone.  
\- Hubert shall be glad. Maybe he’ll even have a proper meal, for once - she added, turning first to Byleth and then to the young marquis at her right.  
Hubert did not answer, his lips twisting into a ghost of smile as his eyes moved quickly from Edelgard's face to the queue of students pressing at the stalls.  
\- What is it?- Byleth asked as they elbowed their way in towards Black Eagles’s table.  
\- A meat pie with pork and offal filling, I heard. I am not partial to meat, myself, but it is so dripping with butter I hardly resist a slice of it here and then. A bit too spicy, I dare say...- Edelgard answered, her voice ringing above the buzz. She could effortlessly captain an army, Byleth reflected: her orders would blare even over the heat of battle.  
Finally they earned Eagles’s table, which had been prolonged with further desks to make room for more pupils joining from other classes- Sylvain and Mercedes had came first, swiftly followed by a couple of Deers, and others were joining in still.  
\- Hubert, please, would you mind taking care of the meal for us? I'd do it myself, but I think we’d better see through the matter as son as we can. I can't say I am too pleased with Friday deadline and all, and I guess our professor shares my view on the subject- Edelgard added, immediately turning to Byleth who had just placed the books on the table.  
Hubert wasted no time: a slight bow and he was cutting trough the mob which, as Byleth couldn’t help but notice, scattered and rived around him as he went though.

It took quite some time before Hubert returned with a tray on which he had rather skillfully managed to stow three brimming portions of pie.  
Immersed in her exchange with Edelgard, Byleth noticed it only when the tray was neatly placed in front of them: Hubert picked a plate and took his place next to Edelgard, right opposite Byleth’s seat. Apparently, the thought of sitting elsewhere hadn’t even remotely crossed his mind.  
Edelgard thanked him with a familiar nod and helped herself, not before gesturing Byleth to have her portion first, to which she opted for the smallest one.  
However, as both were too absorbed in making individual certification fit with Seteth’s schedule, neither cared to even touch their plates.  
As for Hubert, seeing his participation wasn’t required in the least and knowing Edelgard would not mind, he quietly began his meal.  
As Byleth had come to learn, Vestra wasn’t quite the convivial type. Not that he was so lacking in manners as to hasten his meal for the mere sake of leaving the table, but his relationship with food certainly resembled that of a businessman with a transaction he intends to end quickly and in the most efficient way.  
He followed an odd routine of his own: first, he started unfolding his napkin and placed it on his lap with few neat gestures as he gazed around at his tablemates. Then, never losing sight of his surroundings, he grabbed the cutlery and repositioned them aside his plate, after which he lifted his glass before filling it- not before he had glimpsed at it with an apparently distracted glance- most likely a bluff, Byleth would bet.  
As his actions and demeanour had persuaded her, Hubert had developed a pronounced mistrust towards his surroundings- whichever it might be; an attitude she doubted life at Garreg Mach was to blame and that she was rather inclined to date back to his Enbarr years. Yet, for reasons she ignored, he didn’t consider Garreg Mach safe enough that he must let down his guard, ever. She wondered why.  
In addition to his natural elusiveness, the Marquis was remarkably frugal: until that day, Byleth had never seen his plate anything near to full. He ate little, if at all- should board be not to his taste-, smoothly deflecting conversation (despite Von Aegir’s best efforts to engage his fellow diners in small talk: the Duke was constantly eager to show his silver tongue off and intespersed his chatters with fashionable _mots_ he had been learning of late). To each an every attempt at involving him, Hubert answered with a cold, lopsided look- if not with a vitriolic retort, should he feel either particularly irritated or cheerful, Byleth couldn’t say- after wich he placidly went on chewing, as careful as he expected to find needles tossed in his food.  
He would just wet his lips with a sip of water at the beginning, in the middle and at the end of the meal, after which he folded his napkin away and took leave excusing himself with a bow: this, provided his lady was finished already. If not, he patiently awaited her to, not infrequently fixing a sharp and sardonic look on the faces of his commensals, no doubt to the special purpose of unsettling them.  
Of course, Byleth had been exposed to his treatment as well: however, accustomed as she was to company of the most varied kind – it was not seldom that hirelings’s manners left much to be desired, at a table as anywhere else, and highway joints weren’t exactly courtly gatherings- Hubert's attempts failed to impress her in the least.  
Now, however, things had… changed.

Byleth tried to concentrate and ignore the fact that only two weeks ago she had accidentally surprised the caustic and unfriendly Marquis Vestra at the thermal baths, at night, naked as a warm and blissfully unaware of her presence.  
Above all, she’d rather not think about how the sight had left her strangely agitated: since that night, a sudden feel of heat blossomed between her thighs whenever she realized Hubert was around.  
Since the beginning, she had promised she would browse the vast library Garreg Mach prided itself on, seeking enlightenment as to her condition in some of the many medical tomes Manuela hadn’t reclaimed for the infirmary yet. However, she had since missed both time and calm she much needed to conduct her search: too many tasks, too little time left after lessons.  
Furthermore, given Hubert held Byleth a threat to her lady’s safety, the Marquis seemed to enjoy stalking her (when not too busy either vanishing out of sight for hours or sticking to Edelgard's side as he was glued there). Sometimes, he didn’t even made an effort at discretion while hovering in her vicinity. There was no doubt that he would find her interest in medicine suspicious, to say the least: and Byleth would much prefer not to give him further motives for prying in her personal life.  
As to the present time, however, Vestra – who usually enjoyed eyeing her grimly - seemed all too busy with quite different matters. He had quickly performed his odd routine and was now staring at his plate with an expression nothing short of ravenous.  
As she listened to Edelgard detailing the list of students who whished to apply for certifications, Byleth struggled to take her eyes off the Marquis plunging knife and fork into his lunch.  
Garreg Mach pie was indeed an incredibly greasy preparation: as Hubert’s fork pierced its crust, brown grease trickled down pooling at the bottom of the plate. Byleth could easily see spice powder floating in the gravy.  
As she had learnt from Edelgard while waiting for lunch, pie filling had to be stewed for several hours in blood- which reminded her of Dagdan black pork stew: this was the reason why its gravy had a distinctive aroma and a very peculiar colour, vivid and dark at the same time.  
Truth be told, Byleth had never been too partial to Dagdan black stew and doubted Garreg Mach pie was going to be different: yet, after all her travels, and since hireling life encompassed both shortage of food and incredibly unpalatable cuisine, she had learnt to gracefully adapt.  
As for Hubert, he didn’t share either hers or his lady’s distaste for meat and was definitly comfortable with stewing stuff in blood- at least judging from how he ate, ferally uncovering his teeth which were small and oddly shaped.  
For a while, Byleth managed to bring her attention back to school matters and, through about a quarter of an hour, no longer paid attention to Hubert- not until she realized the young man had got up and was now returning to the table with another portion in his hands. She recalled the previous day Hubert hadn’t shown for supper: as Edelgard had excused him, he felt slightly indisposed.  
For sure, he looked quite in good health right now: his fork went tirelessly back and forth between the plate and his mouth- thin and wide, with those strange teeth and sharply pronounced canines. A hint of sauce had stained his lip: Vestra noticed it only after a while and wiped it off, not without elegance, with a precise gesture of his large gloved hand.  
Suddenly Byleth remembered his hands, naked as she had seen them that night two weeks ago: and it was as if something had suddenly clicked into place.  
The vulpine look on Hubert's face while he ate; the pie grease on his lips and teeth - neither beautiful, but which somehow hypnotized her-; the reddish stain the gravy had left on his napkin as he wiped with it; his hands and the gloves that covered them, hiding their real condition from prying eyes; his clear, fierce eyes and those crooked half smiles of his.  
The heat between her thighs was growing unbearable.  
\- Professor, are you alright?- Edelgard asked: the mercenary could distinctly catch a note of concern in her voice as the young woman bent her head towards hers with a strangely intimate, tender gesture. Her small hand, also gloved, reached over Byleth’s wrist as if to grab her and never let her go.  
-I am always perfectly fine- Byleth replied mechanically: it had always been true until then.  
"We could retire for a while, just the time to gather your wits..." Sothis suggested.  
Byleth shook her head in response to the Goddess and noticed Hubert had immidiately stopped eating and was now staring at her, his eyes narrowed and his right hand smoothing the napkin over the table.  
She turned to Edelgard and, - I'm just a little hungry - she added, feeling her face blush- though she doubted her companions would notice anyway.- Professor, I must tell you, as I always tell Hubert: you tire yourself too much. And I am to blame, as well: I got too carried away with this whole Seteth business. Please, let's eat now – see, Hubert is almost done! - and we'll think about next month later- Edelgard blurted, flushing abruplty as she flashed Hubert a sidelong glance.  
Uncertain as to what she should answer, Byleth simply nodded and forced herself to swallow a forkful or two under Hubert’s scrutinizing stare.  
As for the Marquis, he left his plate untouched for the rest of their meal.

After lunch and before resuming class, Byleth and Edelgard finally managed to come up with a decent plan for the month: the rest of their afternoon was spent practicing in advance for Friday tests.  
Kids, who had heard the news about Seteth, were tense and in a bad mood; at six p.m., tired and worn out by their restlesness, Byleth decided she would spare herself dinner and have some rest instead. No matter how little she had eaten, she still felt full from lunch: plus, canteen was going to close at ten, meaning there was still plenty of time to get something to eat, in case she needed it.  
Besides, she intended to deal with her… issue, one and for all: what better occasion for borrowing some books? She pointed resolutely to the library.  
"Isn’t that young gentleman of yours a touch too… scrawny to give big tough mercenaries such a hard time?" Sothis teased her.  
\- You could at least help- Byleth replied softly.  
“And in so doing deny you the chance of gaining better insight about your own nature? 'Tis not like me, as you should know."  
\- As if you weren’t enjoying yourself in the process...  
Sothis chuckled in her good-humoured way. However annoying at times, she made quite the jolly companion. Truth be told, she couldn’t differ more from her doctrinal depictions: Byleth often wondered how many people would gladly embrace Seiros's creed, if only official representations of Sothis gave better credit to her true self.  
The library closed at seven: she barely made it in time to pick a couple of introductory medicine volumes before the librarian uncerimoniously shooed her off, not impressed at all by the fact she was a lecturer at the Academy.  
Back in her rooms, Byleth lit a couple of lamps and tossed some logs into the fireplace to dissolve the spell-like dampness of autumn evenings.  
Then, dragging her armchair in front of the fire and pulling the desk at the centre of the room so that she could stretch her feet over it, she immersed herself in reading.

Two or three hours might have passed – her own fatigue and the crackling fire at her side both getting the best of her- when Sothis's thrill brought her back from sleep.  
"Come on! Wake up! Someone’s at the door! "  
Still groggy with sleep, Byleth did her best to get her numb legs off the desk and throwing the book on the armchair stepped to the door, opening it without much ado.

\- Professor.  
There was no trace of surprise in Hubert's voice: if anything, a remote inflection of irony, as if he alone grasped a grotesque lining in things that was lost on anyone else, and that made him grin.  
-Hubert- replied Byleth: her voice mirrored his neutral tone.  
They stared at each other across the threshold in awkward silence.  
It was dark outside now, and the pungent air hitting Byleth’s face felt like an emanation of the Marquis himself. Hubert, on the other hand, cheeks reddened by the cold, felt the warmth coming from Byleth’s room brush his chapped skin. Scent of burnt firewood reached him - and then a fragrance, something like ginger or some other spice from across Fódlan borders. It reminded him of Riegan: could it be that the dangerous Leicester schemer had more going on with the professor than what transpired by their sparse interactions?  
\- If I may... - he finally uttered as he advanced, slightly bending over to pass the door despite its arch wasn’t so short he could risk to bump into it.  
Byleth stepped aside to let him in, letting out no visible sign of the annoyance that was assailing her.  
Why had he come to her door? Why did he need to come in?  
Their acquaintance dated barely from three months, yet Byleth knew him enough to to rule out any chance he might be looking for enlightment on academic subjects.  
Hubert was a brilliant, proud pupil, and likely to posess far deeper command of Dark Arts than he ever let out: the oldest student at the Academy, it was plain how his bond to the future Empress was the only reason he tarried at Garreg Mach. Had it not been for Edelgard, four years his junior, Byleth had no doubts that, either due to his talent or for mere intolerance of rules, Hubert would have graduated well in advance of his peers.  
Once inside the apartment, Vestra looked around.  
He seemed in no hurry to inform her of the reasons behind his visit, as it was well evident that he felt no need to hide his curiosity.  
He took a few steps in direction of the fireplace: Byleth sensed he was trying to decipher the title on her book’s spine.  
\- An unusual position for a desk - he remarked then, tilting his head to observe the piece of furniture and the carpet wrinkled under it.  
Her room, though spare, made a rather messy impression: Byleth had no doubt that Hubert had duly noted it, but she couldn’t care less.  
\- As it is your nightly visit.  
Hubert clicked his tongue as in disapproval, yet a slightly amused expression flickered in his green eyes.  
\- Alas, dear professor! That of teachers is indeed a wretched, unrewarding life, always at their students’s whim...  
\- I’m perfectly fine with being at disposal, _when_ my students need me - Byleth corrected him.

Once again he gave her a sidelong look as his mouth twisted in one of those slanted smile of his: for a moment, teeth flashed between his lips, more like fangs, and Byleth noticed that they were slightly yellowed. It must have been the coffee, of which Vestra was an avid drinker.  
Hiding the now familiar discomfort that smile caused her, Byleth headed past him and right to her armchair, only to fling rather uncerimoniously into it. She also took care to stow the medicine book away in the desk drawer- which Hubert didn’t miss the chance to inspect as she drew it under his eyes.  
Unluckily for him, she made a habit of keeping drawers perfectly empty: this one was no exception, save for a couple of quills and a bunch of dried lavender she used to make it smell nice.  
Byleth wished she knew how to grin as she caught a tinge of disappointment in the Marquis's eyes.  
Hubert stiffened, as if crossed by her confidence, and folded his arms behind his back.  
\- Fear not, I don’t mean to steal too much of your time. I am here primarily because Lady Edelgard explicitly asked me to check on your health. Today you seemed… indisposed, and not seeing you at dinner only increased her concern.  
\- If you don’t mind, would you please tell her on my behalf that I am grateful for her concern, but she has nothing to worry about? I just needed some time to myself: tough weeks are to come, and we won’t get so easiliy to rest.   
\- Really? - Hubert replied, staring intently at her.- Your indisposition this morning was quite evident. And the fact that you have borrowed medical books from the library does not seem unrelated.  
Byleth sighed.  
\- Doesn't it occur to you that my readings might have nothing to do with my health?  
\- I’d hope them to have nothing to do with something else, then.  
\- Come on, Vestra. Were I a schemer, as you seem to think, wouldn’t it be careless of me to leave a trail? Even a mere student like you can check library logs.  
Hubert did not seem to resent her frankness. Instead he advanced to the desk, no doubt using his stature to tower over Byleth with an unpleasant grin plastered on his lips.  
\- You have a point, I’ll concede. But I’m not convinced.  
\- Very well, I’ll duly take note of that. Is there anything else I might assist you or Edelgard with?  
Hubert unfolded his arms and reached out to the desk, where the Almyran leather top met its timbered rim. Holding her breath, Byleth followed the dance of his fingers as they ran lazily along the leather.  
Most likely, Hubert sought to intimidate her with his complacent demeanour: what he couldn’t possibly foresee was the effect his actions were currently producing on her body.  
\- Actually, professor, there were two more issues I wished to discuss with you.  
Guessing she would shoot him a quizzical look- that is, if she could- he went on.  
\- First, I think I have something that belongs to you.  
"Anything you might have dropped in the dressing room _that_ night?" Sothis ventured: her tone was that of someone bracing for treasure-hunting. Byleth had to refrain from answering her out loud.  
\- I thank you, but I have no idea what you're talking about- she forced herself to reply, at Hubert’s address instead.  
Vestra gave her a piercing look: if for a moment, he seemed to have sensed her hesitation. With studied calm, he produced a small bundle from his uniform pockets and placed it in front of her. Byleth frowned as she reached out to it.As soon as she unfolded it, a glance was enough for her to recognize it: her calendar.  
That morning it hadn’t been just an impression, then: she had really heard it fall to the ground but, distracted by Edelgard, didn’t make it in time to...  
She looked up at Hubert: she knew all too well face was perfectly blank, but Vestra seemed particularly gifted at catching on her moods. He tilted his head with a grin.  
She felt a sudden pang of annoyance: a feeling that was tidally mounting inside her with each passing second, like a figure approaching through the mist.  
"Why is this happening?" she asked Sothis: for once, the Goddess answered her.  
"It seems you are growing angry, child."  
The more she replayed the events in her head, the more each detail clicked into place: she hadn't stumbled at all, rather she had bumped into the wall to dodge Hubert, as she had detected him moving slightly to box her in against the doorframe, to which her body had merely reacted accordingly and without her even noticing.  
As for Hubert, he had been quick to bend over and pick her calendar behind her back: perhaps he had hoped for some less innocent item, something that could serve his schemes or confirm his absurd suspicions about her.  
Perhaps Edelgard was well aware of his actions: her offer to carry some books for her had been timely to say the least, franting her companion plenty of time to act unnoticed.  
Could Edelgard mistrust her too, behind what might be only a façade of courtesy and despite a certain attachment the Adrestian girl seemed to have developed toward her during those last weeks?  
\- I hope you won’t hold it against me, Professor. I assure you it was a deplorable accident- though I suspect you won’t believe me.  
\- An accident you were quick to take advantage of.  
\- As it should be expected of someone in my position.

Byleth dropped the calendar, which tumbled on the leather with a thud, and exhaled.  
Two choices laid ahead of her: first, she could abandon herself to the exasperation already threating to take control over her actions. Perhaps due to the fact that such feelings were new to her, or thanks to Sothis’s aid, she could clearly perceive a part of her craved for emotions and strained at the leash to be released. There was something utterly feral about that side of her: she didn't intend to yeld ( _or was she afraid of it?_ ).  
The second possibility was to face the situation at hand with her usual calm, though tempered now by her newly found sensibility.  
Considering Hubert still stood in front of her, waiting for her reaction, this last path was undoubtedly to be preferred: after all, she was his teacher. There would be plenty of time to analyze her feelings once he had left: besides, it wouldn’t be wise to expose her vulnerability in his presence.   
\- I understand, Vestra. As is shoudl be expected from you- she replied, mirroring his phrase.  
Hubert remained impassive, bowing his head slightly in what appeared to be a nod.  
\- At least you brought it back. I hope you found it useful.  
The Marquis grinned unreadably.  
Byleth wondered whether he acted just to make her uncomfortable, or if he really had drawn any conclusions from the little notes her diary was stuffed with. They were mostly personal notes, observations, tiny drawings and shorthand reminders. She remembered with some apprehension that she had marked the day of that… accident at the Therms. Conveniently so, she hadn’t dared to place nothing more explicit than a small asterisk next to the date.  
\- You mentioned a second issue you came to discuss- she added, wishing to cut their exchange short.  
\- Indeed. You see, it is an odd fact that occured about half a month ago, more or less so.

Arms folded, Hubert stroked his chin. His head was slightly tilted and he had narrowed his eyes- as he always did when he concentrated. His pupils were barely visible beyond the filigree of his dark lashes – they were long, she noted, albeit not too dense - yet Byleth had no doubt Vestra had never stopped scrutinizing her.  
There was something unpurposedly languorous in his reclining head and in the sidelong glance he gave her through his eyelids - they were more than pale: diaphanous, in stark contrast to the livid tone of the circles darkening under his eyes.  
 _Does he looks like this at night while he sleeps, his head on a pillow?...._  
\- An odd fact? - Byleth encouraged him, whisking away the thought of him asleep on a bed.  
\- Really odd, or perhaps worrying. I have reason to think something rather suspicious is going on in the Monastery.  
\- Its’ not like you to be so wary, Vestra- commented Byleth: despite her neutral tone, her sarcasm wasn’t wasted on Hubert which opened his eyes as she had suddenly caught his interest.  
\- Normally I wouldn’t concern myself with security breaches, of course, but they might represent a potential threat to Lady Edelgard.  
\- And why are you telling this to _me_?  
Byleth was genuinely intrigued.  
\- Well, you are the daughter of Captain Eisner, and your father would be accountable should the matter prove more serious than expected, would he not? In addition to this, you are the referent for our class. A notable encumbrance, yet it grants you a credit “mere students" – to borrow your own words- are hardly given.  
\- I think I understand. Vestra, in few words, what is it we are dealing with?  
\- I was certain I would have your attention. About two weeks ago, at night, while I happened to pass by the Thermal Palace, I noticed a strange commotion.  
“Passing by! The nerve of this youth!" Sothis blurted.  
Byleth impassibly crossed her fingers over the desk.  
Hubert might well suspect her and try to bring her out- but what if he wasn’t referring to that episode at all? What if an interloper had really infiltrated the Monastery? She coudn’t let it slide without further inspection.  
\- May I ask what were you doing around the Palace at night? I don’t recall it to be too close to the infirmary- which, as you well know, is the only facility students are allowed to reach after curfew?  
Showing admirable self-command, Hubert nodded at her question.  
\- You see, it is not uncommon for me to personally scout the dormitory surrundings. I am certain Captain Eisner is deeply concerned with students’s safety, yet you will pardon me if I doubt he is fully aware of certain very specific dangers Lady Edelgard’s position entail. That evening I was completing my rounds when I noticed the door of the Palace had been left ajar. Sentries have their own loos, as you might know: there wouldn’t be any reason for them to enter the Palace. In any case, I decided I had to check and went in. After a while, I realized I had been observed. Of course, I tried to stop the felon, but he managed to elude me and got away.  
\- Did you stay long?- Byleth couldn't help inquiring, though she knew the answer already.  
After all, if she played her cards right, she might even get to gather insight as to why Hubert was at the Palace that night.  
As it could be imagined, Vestra evaded her question with studied vagueness.  
\- I have no idea. Ten minutes or so.  
\- That's a rather long time for someone who is just “cheking in”.  
\- As I explained before, my duty is to ensure Lady Edelgard's safety. As you will know, our Thermal Palace adjoins the dormitories. Particularly its terraces face main floors balcony. I merely ascertained nothing worrying was going on.  
\- You are very diligent.  
\- You know all too well flattery is wasted on me, but thank you. In any case, the fact occurred once I returned from the terrace. Also, a few days later, I noticed one of my clothes had disappeared from the dressing rooms closets.  
To this last statement, Byleth had to resort to her best poker face.  
\- Could it be you just lost it?  
\- 'Tis absolutely out of the question. Each cabinet is locked with a strictly individual set of keys.  
\- You must have found signs of a break-in, I suppose.  
At this, Hubert seemed to colour up- but it was no more than a passing cloud.  
\- Not exactly.  
\- Was your locker open, then?  
Hubert grinned.  
\- I didn’t imagine you could ask so many questions, and so accurate. My mistake, I guess. You are much less laconic than usual, Professor: I wonder why. Well, I might as well tell you: I lingered a little longer than necessary. I actually benefited of the Palace’s facilities. On the other hand, I hope you will not blame me for that: I hear that sleep tends to elude you as well.  
\- Why, if we aren’t making progress here, Vestra! You have just granted me at least the benefit of the doubt. I thought you were convinced my favourite nightly pastime was scheming against your lady.  
\- Oh, professor- Hubert chuckled- sometimes you are so naïve. We both, of all the people, know all too well the pure in heart sleeps peacefully. Didn’t a wise man say once that there is no rest for the wicked?

Byleth felt Sothis's anger mounting inside her chest like a purple wave.  
“What a bumptious thug! How dare he compare himself to _us_? "  
The conversation had dragged on too long, she thought to her self; the Marquis showed an unpleasant tendency to become more arrogant as he felt he was completely in control of the situation.  
Willing to cut it short, Byleth resolutely got to her feet: it was then that her eye dropped down on the chest at her bed footboard. There she had stored Hubert's shirt, along with her few belongings, almost all of which were memories either from Dagda or the lands laying still beyond seas, for whom Fódlan had no names.  
At the present, to return his shirt to the Marquis would have meant to admit she was the intruder he was so troubled about. It would be embarrassing for her, sure… perhaps even more so for him.  
Irritated by his attitude and perhaps moved by more subtle motives which kept eluding her no matter how she struggled to name them, Byleth felt a sudden desire to see Hubert reduced to utter silence- humiliated by the revelation of how the facts had really unfolded.  
Sothis chuckled softly inside her.

\- To get back on track, Vestra, thank you for telling me about this all. Security breaches are a serious matter, not to be taken lightly.  
Hubert was looking at her, a frown crossing his features for a moment. Under his vaguely alarmed stare, Byleth effortlessly pushed the desk aside. The carpet smoothed under their feet: nothing interposed between them.  
The mercenary approached her bed and bent down on the chest at its feet, suddenly disappearing behind its raised lid.  
\- However, you might have little faith in my father while I, on the contrary, have full confidence in his skills. All the more so as I have valid elements to reassure you about the true entity of this particular incident.  
Byleth produced a bundle from the chest and, after slamming it closed with a sharp click, spread the envelope out on the bed to unwrap it under the Marquis’s perplexed stare.  
A familiar shape was emerging from the cloth- an old scarf woven in fine hemp silk and dyed in vibrant hues with berries and molluscs from Southern Seas: his nostrils saturated with an intensely spiced fragrance, Hubert finally recognized his coat, washed and folded carefully within the stole.  
Byleth turned and handed it to him, her periwinkle gaze always so undecipherable.

Without a word, and without taking his eyes off hers, Hubert reached to grab the coat with an almost mechanical gesture.  
For a while they remained silent. Then, Byleth flashed him some sort of smile and spoke.  
\- I sincerely apologize for having alarmed you and perhaps Edelgard as well. I had no idea you too were bathing at the Palace, that night, nor did I imagine this might belong to you. When I realized, I couldn't find a single way to return it. It was all a deplorable accident.  
The Marquis did not answer: he looked flustered.  
Leaning in a stiff bow, he tilted his face as to prevent her from noticing the deep blush on his cheeks and rushed off the room, letting the night replace him with her wild, earthy scent as it seeped through the open door.


End file.
